


The Lure of the Paranormal

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fishing, Silly, Then serious, William - Freeform, puns, xfwritingchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully go fishing. Sorry for the pun overload.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lure of the Paranormal

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry. I don’t know what happened here. It started with an endless string of puns (sorry about that. I blame the write or die nature of these) and became something else entirely, something more serious. It goes from Sunday Morning to End Times.

“If I bring home a string of fish, will you clean it and fillet it?”

“I don’t know how to do that, Mulder, and I don’t want to. Do your own dirty work,” she said, smiling as she did. He knew she was serious, however. She would not clean his fish for him. He’d known her answer before he’d asked, but he felt the need to poke her this morning. 

“How about if you catch the fish, and I do the dirty work, as you call it,” he offered, holding up the tackle box in one hand and a fishing rod in the other.

“Nice rod,” she said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh? You find it _alluring_?”

“I bet I could tackle it,” she volleyed.

“You’ve got my mind reeling with the possibilities,” he returned.

“I won’t be cast in the role of your sidekick. If I go fishing, I’m going to be the star of the show.”

“You won’t worm your way out of this one. You’re coming.”

“I’m not biting. Your lines don’t work on me.”

“You’re hooked.”

“I think you’ll find yourself at a net loss by the end of the day.”

“That depends on what scale we use to assess the winner.”

“OK, Mulder, let’s declare a truce. I feel like these fishing puns could go on for hours. You won’t back down; I won’t back down. It will never end. I’ll go with you if we just make it stop.”

A pun truce was declared, and he soon found himself sitting on the dock with Scully, his bare feet dangling in the cool water. He had the thought that it would be nice if this were enough, if all he wanted out of life was to fish off the dock with Scully. But somehow it wasn’t enough on its own. There was more he felt he needed to do.

Thoughts of his son were popping up in his mind more and more these days. Mulder was worried that something bad might happen to William. He would be eight now; it was only three years until what Mulder believed to be the colonization date. He felt it was important to find William before then, to do something, anything, to assure his safety.

He found himself unable to enjoy the beautiful day. The leisurely act of closing his eyes and waiting for a tug on the line left him too much time with his thoughts. Mulder stuck his fishing rod in a crack in the dock and stood up. His feet made slapping sounds and left wet footprints behind him as he started walking back to land. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to bring up their son. It was unspoken between them. He decided that he would this time, however. He knew she would come to find him eventually, and he was right. Mulder had only been standing by the trunk of the car for a few moments before she walked cautiously up to him. 

“What’s going on? I thought we were having a good Sunday morning. Puns, flirting, fishing, sunshine. What’s wrong?” She asked. When he met her eyes, she knew. “It’s about William.”

“I… haven’t heard you say his name in a long time, Scully.”

“I’ve been thinking about him too. More than usual.”

“You have? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For the same reason you didn’t tell me,” she said. Several minutes passed before she spoke again. “What do we do about it?”

“We have to figure out how to stop colonization.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing. That’s all you do.”

“Well, I’m tired of tossing my line out there for answers and not catching anything. Let’s get the dynamite.”

“The dynamite? What the hell does that mean, Mulder?”

“You’ll see,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He dove into the driver’s seat of the car, his feet still bare, his pant-legs still rolled up. She climbed into the car with him without a word, but she was worried. He left his shoes on the dock. He left their rods and reels on the dock. He left the tackle box splayed open like a gutted fish in the sun and never looked back.


End file.
